of which the _New York Tribune_, in 1875, says:--
"Several years ago Mr. Carleton, the publisher was seized with the
belief that a burlesque of the popular almanac, such as the "Old
Farmers' Almanac," to which New England pinned its meteorological faith,
would be remunerative. He suggested the idea first to "Artemus Ward,"
afterwards to "Orpheus C. Kerr," and next to "Doesticks," but none of
them thought favorably of it. An arrangement was at last made with "Josh
Billings," and so the "Allminax" came about. Nearly 150,000 copies were
sold the first year, 1870, and almost as many since, and though the
retail price is only a quarter of a dollar, Mr. Shaw is said to have
received nearly $5,000 the first year, and over $30,000 in all."
It has been said of _Josh Billings_ by one of the critics of his own
land that "His wit has no edge to betray a malicious motive; but is
rather a Feejee club, grotesquely carved and painted, that makes those
who feel it grin while they wince. All whom he kills die with a smile
upon their faces." In directing his shafts against humbug, pretension,
and falsity he worthily carries out the true vocation of the comic
writer. Many authors there are who write funnily merely to amuse. There
is always a higher purpose peeping out from among the quaint fancies and
odd expressions of _Josh Billings_. Just inasmuch as America is prolific
of humorists and satirists, does she require them. The bane and the
antidote grow in the same garden.
Were it not for the satirists of America--of whom _Josh Billings_ is one
as well as a humorist--it is difficult to imagine to what ludicrous
eccentricities the people would lend themselves. Too self-sufficient to
listen to argument, they are keenly sensitive to ridicule, and a little
of _Josh Billings_ is more effective in doing good than the best sermon
a foreign friend could preach them. Burlesque their salient, amiable
weaknesses--that is, let them be burlesqued by one of their own people,
not by a foreigner--and they at once see the point of the joke. In
illustration of this, there was a paper in Cincinnati which was very
much given to use the phrase, "this great country," and carried the use
of it to an unwarrantable extent. It ceased to do so when the following
appeared in a neighboring journal:--
"This is a glorious country! It has longer rivers and more of them, and
they are muddier and deeper, and run faster, and rise higher, and make
more noise, and fall lower, and do more damage than anybody else's
rivers. It has more lakes, and they are bigger and deeper, and clearer,
and wetter than those of any other country. Our rail-cars are bigger,
and run faster, and pitch off the track oftener, and kill more people
than all other rail-cars in this and every other country. Our steamboats
carry bigger loads, are longer and broader, burst their boilers oftener,
and send up their passengers higher, and the captains swear harder than
steamboat captains in any other country. Our men are bigger, and longer,
and thicker, can fight harder and faster, drink more mean whiskey, chew
more bad tobacco, and spit more, and spit further than in any other
country. Our ladies are richer, prettier, dress finer, spend more money,
break more hearts, wear bigger hoops, shorter dresses, and kick up the
devil generally to a greater extent than all other ladies in all other
countries. Our children squall louder, grow faster, get too expansive
for their pantaloons, and become twenty years old sooner by some months
than any other children of any other country on the earth."
Burlesques, such as the above, whether written by Artemus Ward or _Josh
Billings_, have not been without their good effect in the United States.
The genius of "hifaluten" as the Americans call it--the word is derived,
I believe, from "hyphen-looping"--has received many mortal wounds lately
from the hands of the satirists and good results have ensued.
The writings of _Josh Billings_ cannot be read with out exciting mirth,
without sometimes hitting home, nor without the reader becoming
satisfied that America has added to her humorous authors one in every
way well qualified to take foremost rank.
For real side-shaking fun, the reader may turn to many pages of this
volume and find a copious supply; but, if he is desirous of humor and
pathos allied, let him turn to the chapter on "The Fust Baby," page 383.
He will there find that, underlying the caustic wit of _Josh Billings_,
and a stratum or two deeper than his quaint fun, is a quiet layer of
genuine feeling capable of comprehending and of originating the power to
express the very poetry of pathos. The "fust baby" born "on the wrong
side of the garden ov Eden" is invested in this humorous essay with all
the interest which babyhood is susceptible of acquiring.
There is little that remains to be said relative to Mr. Shaw, except to
express the opinion that he has taken a very worthy position among the
authors of his own country, and is likely to become a general favorite
in England in his character of "_Josh Billings_." Some of his latest
papers were contributed to the _New York Saturday Press_, under the head
of "Cooings and Billings," with a commendatory notice by the editor of
that paper, Henry Clapp, jun., whose name is not altogether unknown to
the literary men of London and of Paris.
{ESSAYS.}